The Nannies Overhead
by minervamcgonagalls
Summary: In which Mary Poppins and Nanny McPhee are cousins who have set up nannying headquarters in the sky. Featuring spunky nannies-in-training, a villain who may or may not want to steal the nannies' magic for dark purposes, and eventual Mary/Bert.
1. Prologue

**Greetings, readers. I had a list of potential fics to post—mostly darker, T-rated things that would show off my writing skills—but what do you know? The kids' fic won out in the end. But, I was bound to do this at some point anyway. I am a huge fan of both Mary Poppins and Nanny McPhee, and I also have had the theory about Mary Poppins and Nanny McPhee being cousins ever since the first Nanny McPhee film came out when I was little. (My mother laughed, but I would not be swayed, and I have stubbornly held to the idea ever since.)**

**A note: The Nanny McPhee movies are based on the Nurse Matilda book series. Therefore, Nanny McPhee's name shall be Matilda.**

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

**In Which Hearts are Broken, and a Business is Founded**

They're born at the same moment.

For Matilda, it is the proper time. For Mary, it's a month early. But, it would seem, she couldn't stand to have her cousin win the race into the world.

"It's very peculiar," Mary's mother tells Matilda's when the cousins are a month old. "Born at the same moment." She shakes her head a little. It may have been a month since it happened, but she and her twin are still in awe over it.

"At least she's strong, despite being early," Matilda's mother replies, nodding to Mary's cradle.

Mary reaches toward the window with a tiny hand, feeling the sunlight. A bird lands on the sill, chirping, and Mary giggles as though it has said something very funny.

"Her first laugh," says her mother.

Matilda, resting in her own mother's arms, wakens. She watches the bird with wide eyes. It ceases chirping and turns toward her. They watch each other for a minute. No movement or sound, just watching. And just as suddenly as it arrived, the bird looks down at Mary, gives a last chirp, and flies off.

"Very peculiar," says Matilda's mother.

Her sister nods in agreement.

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><p>The peculiarity continues as the cousins grow.<p>

The twins and their husbands know there's something odd in Matilda and Mary. The girls themselves know it as well. When they're young, everyone thinks it amusing when they speak to animals. When they reach a certain age, however, it earns them odd looks and headshakes from those around them, and both have to be taken aside by their parents, and told, "At home, you may talk to animals all day. But amongst other people, you must refrain."

When Mary is fourteen, she realizes she can do much more than merely talk with animals.

Mary walks in the garden with her younger sister, little three-year-old Eliza, one autumn afternoon. The wind is blowing, strong but not overly so, and she can't help but wish she were able to spread a pair of wings and fly.

Then, suddenly, she's off the ground, clinging to the handle of her parasol for dear life.

"Mawy!" her sister shrieks.

Mary's frightened at first, but soon laughs. It's easy after a few moments. She's telling the wind where to carry her; the parasol doesn't matter. But she catches a glimpse of her shadow on the ground, and realizes that it certainly _looks _quite nice. She grins at her little sister. "It's perfectly fine, Eliza!"

She floats gently to the ground. Eliza stares with wide eyes and then rushes toward the house, shouting, "Mum! Da! Mawy _flew_!"

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><p>It takes Matilda another year to discover that she can do more than talk with the animals.<p>

It's a hot August day. She sits with her sister Abigail, a year younger than her, and together they watch the little twins James and Kathlyn chase each other about the garden.

"I don't know how they can possibly run in this heat," says Abigail, fanning her face with her bonnet.

Matilda nods, playing with a twig she picked up off the ground. "Dreadful."

"I shall never complain about winter again," Abigail says, laughing a little.

Matilda nods again, thinking about the lovely snow they had last winter. They'd built a family of snowpeople here in the garden...

She taps the stick against the ground absentmindedly.

Is it her imagination, or is the air suddenly cold?

"Matilda," says Abigail, pointing up to the sky, "look."

Matilda does so.

Clouds have gathered above them, and a moment later, little white flakes begin to float to the ground.

The little ones stop playing. "Look!"

Matilda gasps and drops the stick as if it's something venomous. She looks about the garden. How far-spread is the snow?

Only over their garden, it would seem. Beyond the gate, the sun is shining brightly as ever. She relaxes and gives a sigh of relief.

Kathlyn toddles over to Matilda. "Did _you _do that?" She's always been aware that her eldest sister is magical, but has never known precisely _how _magical.

Matilda swallows. "I think so."

"Oh!" Kathlyn exclaims.

While James runs about the garden with his arms spread and his face to the sky, Kathlyn rushes toward the house, shouting, "Mum! Come and see what Matilda did!"

Abigail grins and looks at Matilda. "Well!" she exclaims. "Snow in August. Who would have thought?"

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><p>The cousins visit often from that time on, practicing their magic (they've decided it can't be anything else) together. They can each do many things, though Matilda can't bring herself to be quite so fond of flying as Mary.<p>

"It's too unpredictable," she says.

Mary only laughs. "No, it really is not. _You _are in control. You are not going to fall unless you want to."

"Be that as it may, I would much rather walk."

And she does. She walks up the air as if it's a staircase. Mary always laughs at this. "Oh, Matilda, where's your sense of adventure?"

"Most definitely _not _in flight," is always Matilda's even answer.

These years where they practice are the happiest. As they continue to grow older, however, the sadness sets in.

While the younger siblings of both of them begin to acquire bits of grey in their hair, Mary and Matilda both remain beautiful with clear skin, and not the slightest hint of grey hair.

"We're not aging," Matilda says when she's visiting Mary one day. "We're going to outlive them all. Every last one of our family members. And there's nothing we can do."

It's a horrible realization for both of them.

Mary cries. For hours on end, she lets the tears fall. Matilda sits across the room, staring out the window and feeling numb.

A month later, Mary's parents are both gone. Her father was in his ninety-first year, and her mother in her ninetieth. Mary had thought she was prepared for this, but now that it has happened, all of that "preparedness" has melted away.

_They went very peacefully, in their sleep_, Eliza writes in her letter to Mary. _Together, just like always. Uncle and Aunt McPhee are both heartbroken; quite particularly Auntie—losing a twin is not at all easy, I would imagine. The funeral is in one week._

Mary hugs the letter to her chest, a sob catching in her throat, but she doesn't let any tears fall right now. Instead she grips her parasol and leaves through the window, flying to Matilda's house and pounding on the door, which opens a few moments later.

"What's amiss, Mary?" Matilda asks in her even voice.

Mary tells her the news, letting the tears fall freely now. Matilda only stands there, wanting to console her cousin, but is not sure how.

"I ... I'm so sorry," she ends up saying. She swallows the lump in her own throat. Her uncle and aunt were dear to her, of course, but they were Mary's _parents_, and she feels she doesn't have a right to cry about it in front of Mary.

"Eliza says they both went ... very peacefully, in their sleep." She blows her nose into her handkerchief and then manages to smile a little. "They went everywhere together. Even ... even into death."

"This way, one of them doesn't have to deal with the pain of separation," says Matilda, and Mary nods.

"Yes."

Matilda's father dies six months later. She remains strong; purely for her mother's sake. But when her mother dies two years later, she finally allows herself to shed tears. Mary hugs her tightly.

"Oh, Mattie," she says. "You've always been so good about keeping strong for everyone else. But it's finally your turn. Just cry."

And Matilda does. She cries all the rest of that day. She cries on the day of the funeral. She weeps as she pushes aside family and friends, stepping up to help lower her mother's casket into the ground.

This act earns her whispers and odd looks from all of the family and friends. But Matilda refuses to let her beloved mother be laid to rest by a group of complete strangers. She regrets not stepping up at her father's burial, and will not feel the same regret now.

"Goodbye, Mum," she whispers.

She wears black for months on end, only leaving her house once every month or so. She speaks to no one, not even Mary, whom she had been so close to.

And then she gets to know _him_.

She doesn't mean to fall in love. She desperately tries not to. But he makes her laugh so easily, and his eyes are so warm and kind. He's a widower of forty-one; exactly two years older than she was when she stopped aging. His two daughters are spirited and bright, and she grows to love them as well.

But then one day he proposes, and she remembers just how mortal he is, and how if she says yes, she will be happy for a while, but eventually he will die, and she will just _continue_, on and on and on ...

So, with a heavy heart, she turns away and tells him, "No."

The heartbreak in his eyes hurts her so badly, but she forces herself to bear the pain. She leaves immediately, weeping as soon as she is out of sight of his home.

She weeps all the way to her own home, where she shuts herself up once more. She puts on black clothing once again, and refuses to leave at all. Trips to the market aren't necessary when she has magic, and she can walk in the garden.

And this time, she keeps to her vow and never steps off her property. She visits no one, not even Mary. She doesn't even answer letters.

The animals provide her with enough conversation. Most of it is idle, but it keeps her from going mad.

Years pass. She doesn't leave when a letter from Mary appears in the fireplace, telling of Abigail's death. Several years later, when she receives another telling of James's, she remains in her home.

She almost leaves when she receives a tear-stained letter telling of Eliza's death. _Mary's baby sister_, she thinks sadly. She does want to be there for her cousin, but she still can't bring herself to go.

When she receives a final letter from Mary, she doesn't know how many years it's been since she last left her property. _I do not expect you to show up_, Mary writes. _But your youngest sister is on her deathbed. _I_ have come to say my goodbyes, and _I_ am merely her cousin._

_She remembers who I am, and recognizes her children and grandchildren and the two great-grandchildren, and she quite frequently asks to see you. Do grant your youngest sister her dying wish._

_She has a few days left, at most. I hope you will find your heart, although I expect you will not._

_—M.P._

Matilda drops the letter and rushes out of the house as though the devil himself is after her. She takes a step up into the air, running higher up until she's running across the clouds.

At last she spots Kathlyn's house down below, and descends without caring if she's seen.

She bursts through the front door of the house, pushing past Kathlyn's children and grandchildren, until at last she's at her baby sister's bedside, holding her hand and stroking her hair, and ignoring a shocked Mary Poppins who stands by the window.

"I'm here," Matilda whispers, tears filling her eyes. "I've come. I'm so sorry it wasn't sooner."

"Mattie," says Kathlyn with the smallest of smiles. "I've missed you so. But I knew you would come. Are you going to stay?"

Matilda nods. "I am going to stay. I promise. I shall stay until the very end."

And she does. She stays for the next three days, talking to Kathlyn, trying her hardest to make up for the time they lost.

She's there at the very end. There to hold Kathlyn's hand and whisper her final goodbyes.

Mary Poppins, even though it's been years since the two of them have spoken, embraces her cousin and lets her cry.

"I'm proud of you," she says, "for coming."

They each decide to stay while funeral arrangements are made. They talk as they did when they were young girls. They watch all the children while the adults are busy.

And find that they both love it.

Mary sings songs with them while they do chores. Every so often she'll use her magic to do something surprising for them. Matilda reads them stories and works on patching their clothes. When the youngest ones misbehave, she's fond of using her magic to put on the Hag disguise—frizzy grey hair, overlarge nose, several warts. The older children laugh because they know the secret, and have to leave the room to keep from spoiling it, but the youngest are genuinely frightened by the Hag, and are guaranteed to do what she says.

Matilda finds she can be happy again, surrounded by all of these children with their laughter and life.

She could start something. A nannying ... business, she supposes it could be called, although she wouldn't demand any payment for her work. Mary could do it as well, perhaps. And if there are young women like them, they can do it as well. Find broken families and intervene with their magic; staying as long as they are needed and then slipping off when the job is done.

Eventually she approaches Mary with the idea. It turns out, funnily enough, that Mary has had a similar one in mind. Their planned methods are different, however.

Matilda's is inspired by the Hag. "We'll use our magic to 'ugly' ourselves so that the children we help will not want us, and then slowly remove the bits of magic as the children learn their lessons, until they do want us very much, but by then our work is done and we must go."

Mary's involves "Practical Perfection," and is _worlds _different.

"Your Method will not work for me," says Matilda.

"And yours will not work for _me_," Mary replies promptly.

Eventually it is decided—they will start the business together, Mary with her Method and Matilda with hers. Any young women who come will choose between the two.

It's a good plan, they know.

The next few months are spent looking for a place to build their headquarters. Mary does not want it to be on the ground. "It runs the risk of people discovering our magic. And what, I ask, would happen then? Nothing good, surely."

They take to the skies. Mary shows Matilda different clouds. Eight times, Matilda shakes her head in disagreement. But there's something different about the ninth cloud. She can see herself building a home on it.

So they start work. Building the mansion on Cloud Nine, as they have very simply named it. Talking to various animals and hiring them as "scouts" to look for families in need of help, and also for other young women possessing magic.

"Tell the lasses that our doors are always open to them."

The animals get to work straight away, and several women come right away to begin training.

The day Matilda and Mary hang the sign over the front door is the proudest day in both of their lives.

_OVERHEAD NANNIES_, it says in bright red.

The women they've managed to recruit already are standing there, grinning and applauding for the place where they finally fit; where they can be themselves without worrying about anyone seeing their magic and assuming the worst.

Overhead Nannies.

A wonderful place, indeed.

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><p><strong>A bit long for a prologue, I know. xP I swear I have actual plot ahead for this, with a nice villain and all sorts of lovely things.<strong>

**Anyway, if you've waded through this mess of a prologue and would for some reason like me to continue, please let me know by leaving a review. They make my day and motivate me to write faster.**


	2. Chapter the First

**I'm very sorry for how long it's taken me to get around to updating this. But I've finally got a good direction for the plot, I'm happy to say.**

**Also, many thanks to each of you lovely reviewers. It's kind of an obscure category, so I wasn't expecting to get ****_any_****. You have made me very happy.  
><strong>

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><p>"Miss Eveling, do you not think that perhaps you may be better off working with the McPhee Method?" Mary Poppins glances up from her desk at the woman standing before her.<p>

Nearly a year of training in Practically Perfect, but the girl still can barely look anyone in the eye, let alone exude confidence. Mary knows perfectly well that a timid nanny might as well be a doll for children to tear apart, but she says nothing about this, as she can see that Marielle Eveling knows it too.

"I-I have given ... a good amount of th-thought to it, Miss Poppins." Her stammer has also barely improved since she arrived here, but it's not as if she's got anywhere else to go. Mary and Matilda have done their best to treat her as gently as possible. "But I ... I could never ... Oh, hang." She buries her face in her hands and takes deep breaths, as though trying not to cry.

"None of that now, Miss Eveling," says Mary, though she stands and gives the girl a hug. She's not used to doing this sort of thing; doesn't even normally _like _doing this sort of thing, but with young Miss Eveling she feels the need to hug tightly and protect fiercely. From what, exactly, she is not sure; it's not as if any harm can come to them up here. "You'll catch on eventually."

"But I w-won't, will I?" The girl swallows and uncovers her face. "I ... I think you kn-know it, too."

"We'll figure something out; don't you worry," says Mary firmly, and she means it. "Now come; it is a Second Tuesday, and it is Matilda's turn to prepare breakfast, and I mean to have first choice of the blueberry muffins."

She leads the girl out of her office and into the hallway, closing the door behind her.

The main doorbell rings twice, and Mary smiles. "I'll bet that's the girls back for their Second Tuesdays; shall we go to it?"

Marielle nods and follows her to the door, smiling a little as Mary opens it.

Mary and Matilda have deemed very few nannies Ready To Work On Their Own, but the ones they have are nearly always as busy as they are—if not off helping a family, then busy helping train others to the best of their abilities. As of late, they have all been out helping families, and as of right now, all of the Practically Perfects are standing on the porch of the mansion on Cloud Nine, carpetbags and umbrellas (though none quite like Mary's yammering parrot; each is smartly tailored to the girls' own personalities, at her suggestion) in their hands. It is a Second Tuesday, and thus their day off, whereas those trained in the McPhee Method get every Sunday off, but only the afternoons.

Mary nods to them all, and Eleanora Ribband, a small auburn-haired woman who stopped aging at forty, returns the nod before rushing in and launching into a speech, waving her black cat-handled umbrella around for effect.

"Heavens, the Marks children are going to be the death of me! Toddler's got his hands in a jam jar every time I turn around. Where he keeps getting them, I've not the faintest idea. My next assignment had better be one pertaining to my Specialty, or I shall run mad." She gives a long huff before retreating into her usual quiet, observant (if somewhat quirky) self, and nodding politely to Mary. "Good morning."

Mary, as usual, holds in her laughter. "Good morning, Miss Ribband."

Rosalynne Fauna, a golden-haired, pink-cheeked woman who stopped aging at twenty-seven, enters next, nodding to Mary and then smiling kindly at Miss Eveling. Rosalynne, of a quiet and sweet nature very similar to Marielle's, has done her best to take the girl under her wing and help train her as gently as possible. She Specializes in helping grieving families who have just lost a mother or father, and thinks Marielle might Specialize in something similar, if she could ever get through training.

"Matilda's made her blueberry muffins," she says, closing her eyes and breathing in the scent. "I could use one o' them. I'm bloomin' starving." Originally from the country, she is more comfortable speaking as she did whilst growing up there, and does so on all of her Days Off.

"Sh-shall I ... carry your things?" Marielle asks timidly. It's an excuse to get away from all of the people who are coming in, and Mary knows it, but she says nothing.

"If you really don't mind," says Rosalynne, her smile back once again.

Marielle smiles back and takes the carpetbag and pink doe-handled umbrella from her, rushing off down the corridor without looking back.

Rosalynne turns to Mary. "Sure is a shy thing. But she'll come 'round yet; you'll see. I'm off to eat straight away. Heaven knows I'd collapse into bed and sleep all day without eatin' a thing if I wasn't." She heads down the corridor and turns the corner leading to the dining hall.

Stella Farling, a witty, adventurous girl with brown hair and grey eyes, is the next to enter. Always in a cheerful mood, she greets Mary brightly and then offers to take her place at the door. When Mary balks, Stella only laughs.

"Please, Miss Poppins. I'm far too tired to even think straight; let alone plan a proper prank."

Mary hesitates but then nods her agreement. She knows how tired one can become if the children in one's charge are difficult. "I'll take your things to your room, then."

"Thank you, Miss Poppins."

She hands over her carpetbag and blue fox-handled umbrella, and Mary carries them off to her room without another word.

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><p>In the dining hall, Matilda is already sitting at the far end of the table, looking down at a piece of paper. She takes a quill and crosses a few things off before looking up at her cousin and saying, "The scouts haven't got any new families in need yet, but they're all bringing back reports of strange ... happenings. The Woodward family is still in need of someone trained in Practically Perfect, however. I know you are busy with recruits, and as we are all aware, the need for a nanny will not pass anytime soon, and can the family wait a bit longer. But—"<p>

Eleanora, seated near her, says, "I could take it when I am done with my current assignment, if it pertains to my Specialty. If, not, however, I don't think I shall be able to handle it. None of the rest of us can ever _be_ Mary Poppins, after all. This Marks family—"

"—Is driving you mad. I heard you all the way from in here when you entered into the main hall," says Matilda. She looks down at the paper once more. "It just so happens that it does pertain to your Specialty. Parents who like doting on infants far more than raising them into adults; hardly paying any attention to their older children ..."

Mary takes her seat at the close end of the table, saying nothing whilst Matilda continues to speak. The others, trainees and fully-trained, enter and take their seats quietly as well.

"... Who are expected to be as quiet as possible and behave like little adults themselves, and to generally remain out of sight." She looks up at Eleanora. "You will want a bit of time off when you are finished with your current assignment, of course, but I will put you to this one as soon as you are ready." She writes it down on the piece of paper. "You should know that this also happens to be a poorer family, and while chores are a necessity, the older children are expected to do far more than they should at the ages they are; taking on things that should be done by their parents but instead—"

"Matilda, it has already been decided," says Mary loudly. "I expect you can tell Eleanora all of the specifics when the time comes, and she will remember them far better then. Meanwhile, it is nine o' clock in the morning, and those who have just returned for their Second Tuesdays are rather tired."

Matilda seems to finally notice everyone else in the room, and nods. "Of course."

Mary would say something along the lines of, _Everything is not about work all the time, Matilda_, but for her cousin, it is. She's healed somewhat over the years, but Mary knows something changed her even before the death of her last remaining sibling; something she has never even spoken to Mary about. She has completely immersed herself in this work; is so focused on keeping busy that she wears herself to exhaustion on a regular basis. And while training new recruits in the McPhee Method does make her happy, she has been remarking for the past two weeks that summer is nearly here; the time when she and Mary pause in training other nannies and go out to work with families themselves, as school is out then and there are far more cases to work with. Cases that need Mary and Matilda, far older (though they may not look it) and more experienced than the rest. Summer, when Matilda can surround herself with children for weeks at a time.

The trainees make quiet conversation amongst themselves during the meal, but the two founders and those who are here on their Second Tuesdays are silent. When the meal is finished, Mary snaps her fingers, and the dishes stack themselves and float toward the kitchen. The nannies and trainees all stand and make their way out of the dining hall, while Matilda puts a hand on Mary's shoulder and indicates that she should wait behind.

When everyone has gone, Matilda closes the door and turns to her cousin.

Mary realizes what this is about. "The scouts have brought back reports of strange happenings, you say. What sort?"

Matilda takes a deep breath. "Being animals, the scouts can sense magic, as you know. And they ..."

"Yes?"

Matilda frowns, as though she is not sure how to word the next bit. "Several of them have told me that they have sensed strong magic at some of these homes when they first arrive; not from the families occupying them, but from something _other_, and that it leaves after a few moments, as though it does not want to be discovered. As though these families are being watched by someone who does not wish for us to know."

Mary swallows. Who is there to know of their home on the cloud, rendered invisible to all but its residents? "Is that all?" she asks.

"For now, yes. But Mary ... I think we had best warn the girls to keep a wary eye out for anything out of the ordinary. I do not know what any of this means, but I do know there is no harm in being cautious."

Mary nods in agreement.

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><p><strong>-cue dramatic music- This can't be good.<br>**

**I hope there aren't any errors; it's three in the morning and my brain may not be working properly.**

**Anyway. Review? :3**


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